Strangers in a Car
by Wolf Maid
Summary: A collection of short romantic angsty fics focusing on all the diff. pairings possible in Atlantis! Part 7 is up: Radek & Rodney in a fic called 'Memories! Enjoy.
1. Elizabeth & Ronon

…**Strangers in a Car…**

The overall fic is titled for Marc Cohn's song, _Strangers in a Car_, which is one of the most romantic songs I have ever heard, and, I think, really captures the idea behind these stories…Since I'm not allowed to post the lyrics up here, you ought to go google the lyrics and read them! The song is absolutely beautiful.

Anyway, the idea is to pair up every major character with every other major character in Atlantis! I'm not sure why…but I hope this satisfies each and all shippers!

Current Characters (if I'm missing some, tell me and I'll add them):

-Weir  
-Sheppard  
-McKay  
-Teyla  
-Ronon  
-Caldwell  
-Zelenka  
-Beckett  
-Kate  
-Lorne-Cadman

If there's interest I might add Kolya, Michael, Sora, and a "Wraith Queen"…on the whole I'd rather not write Ford, but I can try to it y'all want.

Keep in mind this is going to result in a lot of strange pairing (take Zelenka/Caldwell for example!) but the end result will hopefully be a one-shot that makes said pairing not only work, but appear real and normal…we'll see how that works out! I'll probably start w/ some more common pairing, but if there's one you're just dying to see tell me and I'll get working on it! Also, they'll be angsty/romance fics on the whole, and there might be several deathfics, we'll see how that works out.

Updates should come Monday/Wednesday/Friday, at night…maybe more often, but those are the definite dates.

Erm…on one last note, I'd love lots of reviews! And even if its not a pairing that you especially like, I would LOVE it if you'd still read it! (Keep in mind that I'm a John/Liz and Ronon/Teyla shipper all the way, so this is pretty out there for me, lol)

Oh, and if you'd like to see MORE of a specific pairing, tell me that as well and maybe I'll work on a separate fic for them. And the fics in this group will all probably follow this format/style…what with the flashbacks.

mmmkay, on with the fic!

* * *

AN: Written for BiteMeTechie's theme 'I Want to Die a Beautiful Death.' 

…**Beautiful Death…**

They stand outside in the pouring rain, and she is waiting for an explanation, a story, a reason for him dragging him away from her duties and outside, but he is as silent as he always is, raindrops drenching his long hair, sliding down the lines in his face drawn by time and pain and worry.

She starts to speak but he moves, a slight turn of the shoulder, and she silences as if he asked, as if he ordered. There is something in his eyes that almost scares her, for he is tall and dark with so much suppressed anger, so much harshness and pain that she doesn't know what to say, what she could say to heal such wounds.

"_Ronon—"_

"_Dr. Weir, I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to do what I do best—take out some wraith."_

"_That's not what I was going to say."_

"_To be honest, I don't really care."_

"_I was going to tell you to call me Elizabeth."_

His presence is an entity unto itself, and she feels surrounded by it, surrounded by his strength and his words although he stands feet away and is silent. There is something that draws her to him, something that will not be denied, and she no longer knows if she wants to deny him.

"_I respect Colonel Sheppard for what he's done, and because he respects you I'm inclined to respect that—"_

"_Cut the macho bullshit, Ronon. I'm going to be honest and tell you that I don't give a damn if you respect me as long as you follow my orders."_

"_Elizabeth—"_

"_What? I'm not going to try to demand your respect. That's up to you. Just do your job."_

The skies are literally pouring down, the rain splattering into the ocean below, and the skies are becoming darker as the clouds roll in. She almost—almost—steps back under the cover of the city, but something pulls her instead and she steps to the edge of the balcony, hair plastered to her face, finding the play of lightning across the ocean terrifyingly beautiful, as all things of nature must be.

She glances at the man at her left, and smiles softly, for he is exactly that—a force of nature, a creation of nature that will not be denied or halted or stopped in any fashion or form, unbending and unending.

"_Elizabeth—"_

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing. I just…what you did today…"_

"_Yes?"_

"_You earned it. My respect. You've got it."_

He watches her blatantly, as uninhibited as one would expect, as determined as she has come to assume. There is something in his gaze—a sort of primal need—that she feels mirrored in her depths, and her breath hitches as she looks at him, hypnotized. She takes a step towards him and it is enough of a signal, enough of an affirmation. He reaches out and she is enfolded in his arms.

"_Dr. Weir?"_

"_You're awake! How're you feeling? Should I call Carson or one of the nurses?"_

"_Why am I in the infirmary?"_

"_You were shot on your last mission…the bullet pierced your lung. You were in surgery for a couple of hours."_

"_Why are you here?"_

_She blushes, unexpectedly. "I was…worried."_

"_Don't be. I'll be all right."_

"_I know."_

"_And yet you still worry."_

"_Commander's prerogative," she smiles._

He lifts her, unexpectedly, and she finds herself pushed against the bars of the railing, callused hands trailing a path from her cheek down her neck. She shivers as flesh melts into flesh, as raindrops flutter on his eyelashes as he watches her, needs her. She leans her head down, brushing his forehead with a soft kiss.

"_How could you stand it? Always staying one step in front of death?"_

"_Sometimes you can't think…you just have to do."_

"_I don't know if I could, given the circumstances. …all those years. How could you go on?"_

"_I went on for all those that could not…for all those that died before their lives began…for all those not given a chance."_

_She looks at him and wonders why she never knew his lips could speak such truth._

"Elizabeth," he whispers, and her hands are clutching the back of his neck, the turn of his shoulders and she can feel his leashed strength, his savage intensity.

"I want to die a beautiful death," she breathes, and he blinks, water blending like tears on his cheeks, and she knows he understands.

"_Elizabeth, you have to let it go. Let _them_ go."_

"_How can I? I sent them through that gate! I sent them to their deaths."_

"_They knew what they were risking and they _chose _that death. To honor them you have to let them rest. Respect their deaths."_

"_How can I respect death?"_

"_Because death is the ultimate defeat, the ultimate surrender…but it is also the ultimate defiance. There are so many faces of death…" he falls silent, unsure, unused to philosophy of words and ideas, unused to speaking of such deep thoughts._

The storm surrounds them, layered and complex, but she is wrapped in tanned arms and brutal need, awash in a storm of the soul and a storm of rain and lightning and thunder.

"I want to die a beautiful death," she repeats, a soft whisper, an unneeded explanation. "But today I want to live."


	2. Teyla & Elizabeth

AN: Written for BiteMeTechie's first sentence challenge - #87 'In bitterness and defeat…' Teyla/Elizabeth.

…**First and Always…**

In bitterness and defeat, they swore, and their eyes meet across the long divide and the moment is here, lips meeting lips in the flurry and fury, skin sliding across smooth skin, a dangerous dance that begins and ends as the world around is destroyed—

"_Elizabeth—"_

"_Teyla, I'm not sure—"_

"_Trust me."_

Fire burns on the blue ocean outside and the balcony is a step away, a mile away and her breath comes in little gasps as she smiles against molten skin—

"_Hold me, Teyla," she whispers, and her eyes are wide and arms encircle her waist and she screams silently at the future past._

"_Always, Elizabeth."_

Footsteps echo in the hallway as she runs to the control room, the city shuddering under another attack, the few minutes of sleep lost already to chaos. She runs as if the hounds of hell itself chase her, and she stumbles as the ground shakes and the world splits open.

"_I want to show you the world, Teyla. I want to show you Earth, and the mountains, and where I was born. There's so much…there's so much I could show you…I wanted that chance, Teyla. I wanted to give you the world."_

"_Elizabeth. Look at me. Look at me! Show me your eyes, Elizabeth. Show me your smile. That's all I ever wanted."_

Wraith darts scream miles above in the air and feedback in the radios burns and the shields shudder and shake but hold for a minute, a moment more.

"_In bitterness and defeat, Teyla. We're leaders, first—first and always. If it comes down to it—"_

"_Don't speak like that. It won't."_

"_Teyla…if it comes down to it, we're leaders, first and always. Promise me."_

"_Elizabeth—"_

"_Promise."_

"_Leaders first. First…and always."_

She stumbles toward the doorway, desperate, determined. The skies thunder above, but she can't stop—can't stop now or ever. The lightning follows swiftly and the shield trembles at its touch. So close and yet so very far away…breath tumbles in her throat and her eyes water as the walls collapse into dust.

"_Dr. Weir—"_

"_Elizabeth, please."_

"_Elizabeth…I hope you won't find it presumptuous of me, but your eyes…"_

"_You aren't used to the color?"_

"_None of my people have ever had eyes the color of life. It…marks you, Dr. Weir."_

"_In a good way?"_

"_In a very good way."_

Somewhere in the skies above Caldwell and Sheppard prepare to fight 'til their last, and around the city teams are fighting as the shields fall and the world tumbles to pieces. She lies, breathless, restless, in rubble, part of the city that she has given so much for, given so much to. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth and her eyes are wide as she reaches for her radio. She taps it—once—and then lets her hand fall as she is filled with orders and screams and calls for help. The city dies around her and she hears it all.

"_There is something we have on our planet called a living will. I have it written that if any accident—if anything were to befall me and my brain ceases to function, I don't want my body to continue living. Do you understand?"_

"_Life ceases when the spirit flees."_

"Elizabeth? Dr. Weir? Has anyone had contact with Dr. Weir?" Teyla's voice is growing sharper, biting down fiercely on the rising panic. The radio crackles and blood pulses and Elizabeth swallows a scream.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth? If anyone has any idea of the whereabouts of Dr. Weir—"

"_Elizabeth, you worry too much."_

"_How can I not? Half the time you're gone on some dangerous assignment—"_

"'_What will come, will come.'"_

"_I don't believe in fate."_

"…_I did not listen when I was told this, either."_

The sky burns as the city and her people fight and die and Teyla turns from the ache inside to the world around her, issuing orders, taking the burden she hoped would never be offered.

Somewhere in the city, Elizabeth burns and dies, hand resting on her earpiece, resisting the pull of safety, leaving her people to do what they must, without distractions. Without complications.

"_I want to be cremated. Burned. And my ashes scattered over the sea."_

"_On Atlantis or on Earth?"_

"_Atlantis. Atlantis is my home."_

The city crashes into ruins and in space a dance of giants is played out, weapons flashing through a starless void. She struggles through rubble, through pain, refusing to give up even as she refuses to call for help. Her city is dying as she is dying and it needs her people more than she does. Than she ever has.

"_I wish I'd told you…I wish I'd told you everyday I've known you."_

"_Told me what?"_

"_I love you, Elizabeth."_

A cascade of noise and destruction followed by an overwhelming silence, and she is choking on her blood, chocking on her tears until the radio crackles and Teyla's voice calls into emptiness, assuring, reassuring.

At the very end she taps her radio and whispers back, as she always had—as she always will, a last goodbye, a whisper of need.

"_How can I ever thank you?"_

"_What for?"_

"_I never believed in love before."_

"In bitterness and defeat," Teyla whispers, eyes tracing the path of the waves. Behind her, the city has been battered and crushed and nearly destroyed, and one woman's sacrifice is hard to remember among the hundred that died.

The waves burns with the light of the setting sun and she closes her eyes and pictures green eyes gazing back at her.

"In bitterness and defeat," she repeats, trying to find some strength in repetition, some redemption in remembrance. Her smile breaks. "Leaders first, Elizabeth. First and always."


	3. Cadman & Ronon

AN: Cadman/Ronon

…**Stories…**

She sits in the mess hall, legs up on the bench, back pressed up against the wall as she struggles to breathe past the ache. She is miles away, on another planet, watching a friend die because she's too slow, and all can feel is her heart break, and all she can hear is his screams.

"_Sheppard seems to think quite a lot of you."_

"_Well, what can I say? I'm thought-provoking! I'm sorry, though, we haven't been formerly introduced—"_

"_Ronon Dex."_

"_Well, I _know_ that. I meant that I'm—"_

"_Lieutenant Cadman."_

"…_Laura, please."_

There isn't a world of coffee that can wake her up, for she is caught securely in a web of her own thoughts, and boiling next to the pain is a hatred that is miles deep and a bitterness that has no end in sight.

"_So…I hear that you're pretty tough. Care for a match?"_

"_A match? You mean a lesson."_

"_Listen, tough guy, when I say a match I mean a match!" She smiles slightly. "Just stop when I start screaming, mmkay?"_

She takes another gulp of coffee, scalding her mouth and throat but she is so close to numb she can barely feel the pain, and dimly she wonders if she can score some whiskey off some of the marines because that would burn in all the right ways and a little pain has never sounded so good…

He walks in and she changes her mind abruptly, easily. Nothing like beating the shit out of something to clear her head.

"_Admit it."_

"_Cadman—"_

"Admit_ it! You underestimated me!"_

"_I won every single match!"_

"_Yes, but I did better than you thought I would."_

"…_I don't see how that could matter."_

"_It does. To me."_

"_Then yes. A mistake I won't make again."_

"Ronon!" she calls, standing up on painfully shaky legs. "What the hell are you doing here?" He looks at her, and something in his dark eyes sends a tremble up her body, but she is long past listening to judgment and continues over to him.

"Cadman." When he says her name it changes form and depth and rolls in his mouth as if it were melting chocolate, becoming a response and a question and a connection all at once, and she almost stumbles under the weight of his eyes.

"_So you ever dance?"_

"_Dance?"_

"_Oh, please, I'm sure they had something like that on your planet! A little moving, a little shaking, a little music?"_

"_I didn't have time for such entertainment."_

"_But you do now, right? I mean, I'm sure Sheppard doesn't keep you busy all the time, right?"_

"_Cadman—"_

"_What is it so terribly hard about my name? Laur—a. Lau—ra. Looooooo—raaaaaa."_

"_Laura—"_

"_That's the spirit! Come on, I'll teach you."_

She shoves him, her anger and pain giving her strength that should have remained hidden—strength from bitterness and misery and life. He catches her arms easily, but when she has her mind set on something she is not so easily deterred. She kicks out with her leg, throws her weight forward and he stumbles backwards and falls, dragging her down with him. Around them, dishes clatter to the ground, people turn to look but he is already rolling over, pinning her beneath him and she is striking at him with a desperation that is inches away from tears.

"_You never ask me…" he falls silent, and she looks at him with a question in her eyes, a smile on her lips, prompting him to continue. They continue to walk for another minute in silence until he turns to face her, dark eyes full of emotion. "You never ask me about my past." She shrugs, careless—_carefree

"_Your past is your past…if you need to talk, I'm here, but I've got enough bad memories to know that some wounds are better left alone."_

"Laura," he whispers, voice rough and wild as the ocean pounding against the city—"Laura, listen to me." The dam inside of her is shaking under the pressure and he grabs her in his arms, a shared desperation for privacy and peace, a need for fresh air and the smell of salt, and he growls wordlessly at the staring crowd, the gaping onlookers, until they step backwards—tripping in their hurry to look away.

_She's sitting on the balcony when he comes out, muscles rippling in the sleeveless shirt, breath coming quickly from the run. She laughs softly as he wipes his brow and looks at her in consternation._

"_Shortcut," she shrugs, watching his eyes darken in sudden annoyance until he gives in to her smile. He sits down next to her, movements smooth and graceful, and when she lies down on the sun-warmed ground he follows suit. They share long moments like these, silent yet heavy with thoughts, her smile and his eyes the only words they need._

"_She was beautiful," he says at last, and tells her the story of his wife._

_And tells her the story of that life._

When they reach the balcony she has given up the fight, given up the anger, and is holding him desperately, face buried against his chest, fingernails digging into his skin.

When they reach the balcony he sits down and cradles her against his chest, and whispers her name over and over again, rocking her slowly, finding inside himself a need to protect and cherish and love that he thought had been long lost.

"Laura," he whispers, and she cries and finds her way home through his words, through his voice. He holds her until she stops crying, and then when she starts again, and then when she finally stops at last. By this time he's lying flat on the ground, and she is curled up on his chest and her breathing is uneven and her hair is wet and plastered to her face, but his arms are wrapped around her and her face is snuggled into his chest.

"He was my friend," she says at last, and tells her the story of the fight.

And he holds her tightly through the night.


	4. Kate & John

REVISED. AN: I tried to put in more details…this pairing was pretty hard for me, because Kate is so much about verbalization and John is so completely terrible at it. I was trying to think of a situation that could bring them together like the one that brought Cadman and Ronon together, and I was thinking, well, how many times has Beckett probably wanted John to talk to Kate? Of course, not only wouldn't he want to talk to her, that wouldn't allow for a _relationship_. But…what if she tried to get him to talk out of her office, in a non-threatening way? And then, y'know, fell for him? Cuz let's be honest, who wouldn't? lol….anyway, of course, I'm completely in love with Trishkafibble, because, y'know, she's the best! lol….anyway, she requested a revision, and to be honest I kind of felt I had one coming (see AN below). So, tell me if _this_ works, and if not I'll do it again! …and again. Hmmm….well, hopefully it'll be good now, lol!

AN: Shepard/Kate. I'm not sure about this one….they're so at odds as people, as personalities…hmmmm. well, tell me what you think, if you think it works or not…

…**No Words Left…**

"Will we see each other again?" The sun is skimming the horizon through the tall windows, painting her skin the color of sky, and he watches it and wonders how he can answer a question she shouldn't have asked. "Will we see each other again?" she repeats, and slowly her smile slides away and she is silent.

"_Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Beckett asked me to talk to you about your recent imprisonment at the hands of—"_

"_No."_

"_Colonel—"_

"_I have nothing to say to you. I'm not sure why you seem to find this complicated, but I can repeat it if you want. Louder perhaps?"_

"_Colonel?"_

"_I don't want to talk to you, I'm not going to talk to you, and I do believe that's the end of this conversation."_

The sound of her breathing is loud in the room, each exhale paced to keep control, each passing moment filled with the determination to force him into a promise both know he will never give.

"John?" she asks as last, her voice the barest whisper. His eyes trace the flow of her hair, the curve of her neck, examining each inch of her face except for her eyes.

"_You've got me here, what now?"_

"_How about you sit down?" she suggests. He paces back and forth, some raw, rebellious part of him determined to fight her inch by inch. "John?" she asks gently, and he turns to her with something bordering on a snarl._

"_The name is Colonel Sheppard, Ma'am." She sits back in chair, tablet loose in her lap._

"_Very well. You can call me Kate."_

"Will we see each other again?" There is an energy in the room that won't be denied, an emotion that won't be quelled, and her hands pace restlessly in her lap, agitated and unconfined, a depth in her eyes that mirrors his.

"Not here," he answers softly, at long last, voice hoarse and full of everything he will never allow himself to say. "Never here."

_He finds her hovering outside his office, tears streaking her cheeks, a crumpled letter in his hands, and tries but fails to see her as a doctor._

"_John…there's…" she swallows, almost convulsively, and he looks at her and knows he can no longer deny the instinct rising inside him, the overwhelming need to dry her tears, solve her problem.. "I need…" again her voice filters off into air, and her eyes sink to the ground._

"_What do you need?" he whispers, stepping forward, lifting her chin with his hand until she looks into his eyes, until she sees the unspoken promise in his eyes—"…I'm here for you…."_

"_I need you to listen," she breathes, and her eyes are wide with a new kind of fear that hurts more than he thinks it should._

Her hair burns in the last tendrils of sunlight, and something in her is fading as he stands and turns away, something that cannot be replaced, something that cannot be healed by words alone.

"John!" she calls, sharply, half-bitterly, and there is more in the words than a silent plea, more in the words than a wordless apology, because she has taken more than she has given, and she has used him more than she ever meant, and yet she has lost herself in his hazel eyes.

_She cries in his arms that night, an unlooked for comfort that he freely gives, a part of his nature that she is only now discovering, only now realizing is so very intricate, so complex and multi-leveled, and so very, very self-sacrificing._

_He sits with her in the room with the tall glass windows, where the ocean crashes below them and the sky caresses her skin, and listens to her talk, listens to her stumble hesitantly over words. She is unused to confiding in anyone, and he resists a growing urge to tell his own story to her, to put her at her ease with his voice alone._

_At some vague, almost unnoticed point he realizes her words are _meant _to lead, and her voice _meant_ to draw him out, and when he has almost lost himself in her sorrow he pulls back from the precipice._

"I can't…I can't sleep," she admits with a touch of guilt, a hint of self-scorn, and his voice is bitter with a darkness she has always known laid below the surface.

"Ask Carson for some sleeping pills. I'm sure he'd be…_delighted_…to oblige."

"John, please!"

"Why did you ask me here? You knew what I'd say. Did you think I'd let you play me again?"

"_What do you want?" he asks her, voice suddenly uncertain, tinged with something darker than curiosity. The intake of her breath is enough, the way he changes "need" to "want" is enough. She steps back into the role of therapist that she never truly left, and he wonders where her tablet is now. And wonders how she could have ever made him believe she needed him, why she thinks deceiving him would help him talk. Help him trust again._

_There never were enough words between them._

"I wanted…I wanted to talk. John, wait!" He stops with difficulty…she can tell by the set of his shoulders, the angle of his chin that he wants to leave and not look back. For all he wishes otherwise she—or his duty—force him to stay, and she lets her eyes linger on his silhouette, on the curve on neck, until she is part of the darkness and has lost all sense of spoken language, all need for words, until her breath hitches and he turns around at last, eyes dark in the rays of the dying sun.

"What do you want?" he whispers, and his voice grates like broken glass, burns like embers from a dying fire, and she knows, now, that words are not enough, words are never enough, and moves to his side with a hopeless whisper in her eyes.

"_I thought…" he stops abruptly, decisively, and she sees a sort of hurt that she never meant to cause—never knew she _could_ cause._

"_John?"_

"_Kate…I thought…" The need is evident—the need to be needed, the desire to give, but something more burns for an instant, gone before she can place it, fully see it._

She wants to apologize, explain, speak the words she thinks she can control, but instead she stands, his hazel depths following her steps, his mouth pinched to guard against his thoughts. Inches from him she looks into his eyes and sees that almost familiar burn, but he stops her before she can place her hand on his chest, on his shirt, before she can make the connection they both need.

"_Kate…I thought," he whispers, and she stands abruptly, banging her knee on the table, scrambling forward with a barrage of excuses. He flees before she can follow. _

_He is gone before she can say goodbye._

"Will we see each other again?" he mocks softly, holding her wrist in his hand in an almost bruising grasp, distrust evident, although something still lurks just barely under the surface.

"I see you," she whispers, and there is something in her eyes that burns as bright as he does, something in the play of fading sunlight and encroaching darkness that sends her into his arms, mouth to mouth, beyond words and thoughts and anything other than his need to protect and her need to be protected.

But then they have never truly needed words.


	5. Teyla & Caldwell

**REVISED. ** (minor editing changes).

AN: Teyla/Caldwell. He was quite a pain about this, and it may be a different idea of him than you'd normally associate, but I think it's a side of him that we just don't often see. Thoughts?

Beta-ed by Trishkafibble, all mistakes are mine : )

Written for BiteMeTechie's first sentence prompt: "She sleeps with guns…"

…**Almost…**

She sleeps with guns and wakes to a ceiling of stars; the sky is dark and she stumbles but does not fall. Outside the glass is a black swirl of dust and light and lack of gravity, and time fades out of sync with her mind.

She sleeps with guns and when he checks on her that night she throws him to the floor. When she sees his face the guns fall to her side, her dark eyes full of apology. His face is expressionless and he stops her with a shake of his head, an outstretched hand. She pulls him to his feet and he doesn't mention it again.

She sleeps with guns and he should stop her but he doesn't.

"_I'm coming with you," she states. He keeps walking._

"_You've barely been released from the infirmary; you've been through a traumatic experience. You need to talk to Dr. Heightmeyer and remain on light duty, not go on a rescue mission."_

"_Colonel Caldwell—"_

"_Dr. Beckett would never allow it."_

"_If I convinced him?" He stops and looks her in the eyes, ready for a swift response, but he lets it fall silent on his lips. He cocks his head slightly to the side._

"_Talk to Dr. Weir."_

She stands at the wall-length windows in the lounge, watching the play of light and dark. He finds her there, breath caught in her throat, eyes widened by the undeniable evidence that she is and remains caught between worlds, in a void that she has always seen and always known and yet never recognized to be a destination as much as a trail.

She's living in a land that months ago she did not imagine existed, and it is almost as unbelievable as it is inconsequential.

And she wonders at a man who calls the sky his home.

Who lives in a sea of stars and takes for granted the lack of horizon, the boundless quality of space.

"_Miss Emmagan—"he begins awkwardly, and she cuts him off._

"_Please, call me Teyla." He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement before continuing._

"_Dr. Weir tells me that you wished to speak with me?"_

"_I thought it best that with your new position I should inform you of some of the customs and history of the Athosian people."_

"_Thank you, but let me assure you that I've read the reports—"_

" '_Problems often arise through a lack of understanding,'" she quotes, and gestures to a seat. He smiles a tight, trapped smile and sits._

He stands by her side, watching stars slide past, and says nothing. He wishes for a moment that Sheppard were here, because he is sure that she needs something but he doesn't know what, and vaguely imagines that Sheppard would.

He puts a hand on her shoulder and then lets it slide downward until he reaches the small of her back. His touch is a soft whisper of comfort—it is gone before she can wish for more.

"They'll be all right," he tells her, voice catching and tearing in an attempt to become soft. "Sheppard's a hardy bastard," he adds with an almost ironic smile, and for a moment she thinks she sees hurt as deep as her own but it is gone before she can look for more.

Colonel Caldwell is a study in shadows.

"_How long until we arrive at the planet?" she asks, and her voice is steady and level and he doubts he'd see her mingled fear and rage if he wasn't looking for it._

"_Hermiod said we'll get there in about fourteen hours."_

_She nods, half-brusquely, and turns to leave. The butt of a gun can be seen at the small of her back and he watches her leave with dark eyes and a frown._

The bruises are fading from her arms but her neck is still stained with memories of violence. His eyes are drawn to it so he keeps them on the windows instead, until she turns in the black chair, drawing a leg up to her chest and watching his eyes; he turns and meets her gaze.

Her hand snakes out and brushes his—a feather kiss. She almost hopes he'll catch it gently like a butterfly, but he remains still, afraid to scare her off.

"Thank you," she tells him, and he lifts a corner of his mouth in a crooked half-smile.

_Where John is passion, Caldwell is patience. She wakes screaming from nightmares of gunshots and Rodney's screams and wonders which quality she needs most now._

_She dreams of walking to the control room, hair tied back loosely, and feels the deck shudder beneath her, feels the bulkhead sway beneath her hands. Colonel Caldwell barks orders, hands braced on his chair. His eyes get dark when he's passionate and desperate and thinking and she watches and almost wishes he'd look at her with those eyes. The ship rocks and she wakes in a cold sweat and her hand closes around the gun._

She sleeps with guns and wakes in a cold sweat, and he sees her in the mess when he comes in for coffee.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, and she lifts haunted eyes and a soft smile, nodding her head to the seat across from her. His eyes widen slightly but he makes no comment, accepting the unexpected gift with composure, surprised at her desire for company.

He doesn't try to speak or ask, and she watches his face as he stirs his coffee and thinks he would understand the idea behind meditation.

Although he'd never do it.

Something of him always remains hidden, and he has depths she cannot see but wants to know.

Compared to most she is a study in patience. Compared to his calm, collected front she thinks she must be anything but.

His eyes find her lips and he wonders if she tastes like fruit and sweetness. In the next moment he drinks and coffee and feels its slow, welcome burn.

He lives behind a wall.

"_Is everything all right?" she asks, and he meets her eyes squarely._

"_Of course," he smiles, and she knows it's a lie but can't say anything because no one else sees it. He continues past her and she almost follows, almost puts her hand on his arm and meets his eyes and dares him to lie again. Instead, she lets him go._

_She wonders why._

Her hand lies flat on the table, inches from his, and he almost moves it over hers and squeezes it—a gesture of comfort and friendship. Almost trails a finger along her jawline, a gesture of something more. He leans back, cupping both hands around his mug, and something flashes in her eyes. Minutes later she stands and smiles and says goodbye, and turns to leave.

Light reflects off the metal of the gun.

Sheppard would stand up, grab her arm, and make her face him. Caldwell watches her walk away.

He almost regrets it.

"_What was their condition when Sheppard ordered you back to the gate for reinforcements?" He is careful to avoid words like 'leave,' 'escape,' and 'safe.' He is always careful, when he chooses to be._

"_Rodney had been shot in the leg. Colonel Sheppard and Ronon had both sustained injuries at the hands of our captors, but they weren't severe."_

"_And you managed to slip through a space at the bottom of the fence?"_

"_Yes." Her voice is firm, assured, and he wonders if others can see the play of shadowy emotions across her face._

"_You'll be able to find the prison again?"_

_There's a subtle flinch at the word 'prison,' but she nods an affirmative and keeps her equilibrium._

_Perhaps the bruises on her face draw the eyes of the others away, but her dark depths are all that he can see._

Her hands rest on her guns as she tells him goodbye, and as she disappears to the planet below he knows he should stop her but can't.

He almost follows but remains.

If she had stayed she would've seen the turmoil in his eyes, but she is gone and no one else has breached his wall.

_He wonders why she chose to leave her people and live in Atlantis._

_She wonders why he chose to leave his planet and live in the stars._

She finds him at the window in the lounge, at the edge of reality and time. When she sits next to him her arm rubs against his, a languid hello, and they sit in silence.

"How are they doing?" he asks at last, avoiding, for the moment, other questions.

"The doctor said he thinks they'll make a full recovery. They're sedated right now."

"You're not there." It's more than a question, less than a statement.

"No." They fall back into an easy silence, and she almost doesn't lean in towards him, cheek resting hesitantly on his shoulder.

Sheppard would tip her chin up and kiss her.

Caldwell almost does, but lets his arm find a place on her shoulder, pulling her into him as she smiles and gets comfortable.

The lights are dim and they're sitting in shadows.

It seems fitting, and they sit in silence and watch the passing stars.


	6. Lorne & Sora

AN: Lorne/Sora. Several "interrogation" scenes—mostly implied violence, but some actual. Sorry for the lateness of this, I got the flu. / Now I have homework to make up—joy joy!

Oh, one other note--thanks for the reviews! I'll get a move on on writing the pairings you've specifically requested, but right now I've got a bunny for Radek/Rodney that doesn't want to be put down, so I'll probably work on that next!

Beta-ed by Trishkafibble!

**…****Homecoming…**

He dreams of snow falling and drowning him. He feels himself shoved to the ground.

There is a point between seconds, between the rapid beats of his heart, the ragged intakes of breath, that he sees her hovering at the edge of his sight.

She screams, and he hears a body fall to the ground and he struggles but can't stand up.

_He grabs her arm, and it looks rough but it's not, and she thinks for a moment she could overpower him and run, but something in the line of his mouth stops her—frightens her—and she lets him pull her arms behind her back, feels the plastic tie secure her hands in place._

_He pulls her forward, nodding to the two guards, and they fall into step behind them._

"_You're going home," he tells her, and his voice wakes her from shock and stupor and everything she has felt herself sink into. She's been gone for four months. _Four months. _How can she ever go back?_

Cold seeps into the small of his back, the bare skin of his arms where he leans on the cement. His breath frosts as soon as it leaves his mouth, his dark eyes shining softly as the biting cold and the deep steady throb of pain burns and tries to draw tears. He resists futilely, determinedly.

He wonders if it's worth the effort to get his handcuffed hands in front of him again.

He wonders if she knows what they have done.

He wonders if she cares.

_They step through the gate and she turns to him, something unsaid in her eyes—an almost-fear that she keeps nearly hidden. He pulls out his knife and motions for her hands, and she stands there for the longest moment after she is free, searching his face. He doesn't move, at first, almost transfixed by the desperation he can so clearly see._

"_Goodbye," he tells her, and rejoins his men by the DHD and the newly opened wormhole. After he steps through she stares forever at the deactivated gate. She turns to the fields she is surrounded by. She wonders again how she can ever go home._

Flesh gives. He coughs and blood speckles the floor. Coldness creeps into his soul and his eyelashes flutter. His breath is shallow and his pulse is thready, and he moans softly when he tries to stand.

Heavy lids sag as drugs slide into his veins…_Will I ever see your face again and not die?_

She ruffles his hair with callused hands, blood staining her bottom lip, and he lifts a trembling hand to her face but she is gone.

He wonders if she was ever there at all.

_He sees distinctive red hair slide behind a nearby wall and he winces in reflex and memory. And then frowns in a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. A pale hand beckons him, and he swears softly, but follows…_

"_Why couldn't you approach Sheppard?"_

"_I knew you'd listen before shooting me."_

"_A mistake I won't make again."_

"_Charming."_

"_What, exactly, do you want?"_

"_I want to tell you something—something Atlantis needs to know."_

"_Why?"_

"_Just listen."_

She drips water into his mouth until she is sure he is able to swallow, her eyes avoiding his avid gaze. He clears his throat painfully, and she squeezes his hand with what strength she has left.

"They are punishing me by hurting you," she tells him at last, and her eyes are dark and focus on his left ear. She catches the hint of a smile.

"I dunno, I think they just might be having some fun." She leans forward so her hot breath curls into his ear.

"Don't tell them anything. They'll kill you when they have their answers."

"Didn't know you cared."

"Our people should _not_ be enemies!"

"We kept you prisoner for four months!"

"You have been our prisoner for four days. Who's been treated better?" His eyes skim her face, the tattered shirt clinging to her shoulders.

"What have they done to you?"

"Nothing," she whispers, far too quickly, pulling back from his side.

"_The leaders of my people are against any form of union with Atlantis—to the point that they are planning on spreading stories…"_

"_Gossip? The great and mighty Genii are planning on defeating us by spreading rumors?"_

"_We have been trade partners with many planets for generations upon generations, and your people have been in Atlantis for mere months. Trust is not easily given here—they will believe us and you will lose any allies and trading partners that you have."_

"_So why are you telling me this?"_

"_There have been recent…developments…among my people. I cannot go into details, but…at some point in the near future we will have need of an alliance, and in order to defeat the Wraith, the people of this galaxy will need Atlantis."_

They ask him about Atlantis and Sora and gate codes and building plans and what she told him and if she is a spy and what happened to her while she was in Atlantis and a million other things he cannot answer.

The world tilts and blurs and his stomach rebels and he blinks unsteady eyes and bites his lip.

He watches his skin bloom with purple and yellow and green flowers.

He watches red lines fade and new ones form.

He rests his forehead against cold cement walls and tries to remember how to breathe.

_Her eyes flick over his shoulder and widen and he is moving before she tells him, throwing himself sideways in time to see her shoulder blossom into red sparks. He feels an echoing explosion in his side, and then legs drive into his shoulder and back and a black hood is forced over his head and he is fading and he hears her scream._

He is dragged into a small, dark, windowless room, and she is tied in a chair several feet away. Her bottom lip is swollen and her eyes sway unfocused and he is forced to his knees.

"Why did you contact him?" the guard asks, and she shakes her head and looks away and he feels the sharp bite of a whip and strains against the hold of the two men.

"Why did you contact him?" he repeats, and she sends Lorne a look of desperation and apology.

"Don't tell him!" she half-screams, voice rising and breaking in a sudden plea, and Lorne blesses her and forgives her and mourns for her as the whip is pulled back and snaps forward.

The world is streaked in shades of grey and red, and part of him dies in the cement room.

She is bound and beaten and she looks into the eyes of a man that should be destroyed and finds herself reborn in death and hope.

_He wakes in a cement cell with only his BDU's and a plastic bowl of tepid water. The guards wear thin cotton masks over their faces and carry stun-weapons, the power of which is shown to tremendous effect after he shakes the bars and demands his immediate release._

_When he asks for Sora, a guard grabs his shirt and shoves a gun in his face and asks him why._

_When he sees Sora she is sitting cross-legged in a cell, and her eyes are dark and she is hiding something._

_He is shoved past, and when he tries to say something the guard trips him and he sprawls onto the cement ground with painful force._

"Lorne? Major? Evan!" A hand clutches his shoulder, breath quickening near him. "Evan—it's Sheppard. We're going to get you out of here."

"Don' call me Ev'n," he slurs, eyes fluttering open to see his CO's quick smile before Sheppard turns to the doorway of his cell and begins barking orders. "Sor-a," Lorne whispers, and Sheppard turns back with a frown. "Take 'er with."

"Evan—"

"She 'as to come," Lorne demands, and Sheppard coolly searches his eyes before nodding.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Cell—close." Sheppard frowns at the word 'cell' but repeats the information over the radio, and Lorne closes his eyes in relief. Anyone other than Sheppard…

_He holds her tightly and she is curled up in his arms and for a moment he can forget about the world outside, he can forget that the only reason they are allowed this moment is the guards' belief that the pain they see in each other will force them to give in._

_For a moment he pretends he can take all of her pain into his body and leave her free._

_For a moment he pretends they have a chance to be free again._

The sound of doors being thrown open echo in the small compound along with small spurts of gunfire—the radio crackles.

"Um…Colonel Sheppard? You'd better come here." Sheppard meets Ronon's eyes and they share a quick look, then Sheppard is on his feet and out the door and Ronon is picking up the half-conscious Lorne and following at a slower pace.

Sora lies unconscious on the ground.

Sheppard mutters a sharp burst of profanity before nodding for the two Marines to stand guard while he checks her pulse and her injuries.

"Damnit…" he growls, before lifting her to be cradled in his arms. "Let's get them home."

_She is ripped brutally from his arms and the guard digs his heel into Lorne's neck to stop him from struggling. She wakes in motion and a half-formed scream escapes her mouth before she realizes where she is._

_When they leave he rushes the door in a mixture of frustration and anger._

_The cell seems emptier than it ever seemed before._

_He knows he can do nothing to save himself._

_Or her._

She sleeps and he wakes and he sleeps and she wakes and there is something comforting in their closeness in a world of white coats and IV bags and the steady beat of life.

Beckett and Sheppard wait and watch with a sigh and discuss the thousand possibilities of what could have happened in the Genii bunker. A guard waits outside the infirmary door, but it is more as a precaution than because of any perceived threat.

They wait for renewed health and a briefing and explanations, but the link between the two that lie half-conscious in the infirmary cannot be denied and will probably not be discussed.

From the observation windows they see him reach a tired, bandaged wrist across the narrow distance, and see her fingers entwine themselves in his.

"We're home," he whispers, and she smiles softly.

"We're free," she whispers, and he squeezes her hand.


	7. Rodney & Radek

AN: Rodney/Radek. I'm not positive what the next one will be...I've got a couple of ideas bouncing around in my head!

Written for BiteMeTechie's first sentence challenge "We destroy such precious things."

Beta-ed by the wonderful Trishkafibble.

* * *

…**Memories…**

"We destroy such precious things," Radek whispers, and his hands clench around the back of the chair and Rodney doesn't pause.

"Yes, yes, life is terrible. Come here and help me with this won't you? Do I have to do _everything_ myself?"

Radek almost smiles, but he is transfixed by the thin scar trembling across Rodney's forehead.

Radek almost smiles but he doesn't quite remember how.

"_Rodney, I wanted to talk to you—"_

"_Not right now." Rodney shakes his head and waves a hand and keeps writing._

"_Rodney—"_

"_Yes, yes, I know the lab can't survive for a few minutes without me, but unless you want Atlantis to explode—"_

His hands create designs in the air and at times it almost seems like he's typing, or writing, or turning over a device in his hand. His eyes focus on the imaginary, and Radek is choking on words that should have been said before, and fighting the echoes of opportunities lost before they had a chance to be found.

"I'm sorry," Rodney whispers, and Radek almost laughs.

"Me too."

"_Radek, I need—I need to talk to you—"_

"_Check these calculations, will you?" Radek interrupts, handing Rodney several pieces of paper. "I think I understand what this device—"_

"_Radek—"_

"_Yes, yes. In a moment. But this ancient device you found—" Radek continues, and Rodney gives in._

"_That device was _supposed _to be waiting for_ me_ to look at!"_

He doesn't yell. Radek never thought he'd miss his yelling, his belittling, his antagonistic remarks.

Rodney sits in front of his computer and says he's fine. He sits in front of the computer but doesn't remember how to type.

"_Rodney!" The voice is shock and fear and pain and concern, and Radek stumbles over debris as he runs to the scientist's side. To his friend's side. "Medical team to the lab! Dr. Beckett—Rodney's been hurt! An explosion!"_

_He kneels next to the unconscious form of his friend, shrugging out of his jacket to apply pressure to the gash in Rodney's forehead…_

Radek wakes from nightmares and thinks they're doomed—not just because they've lost Rodney's brain, but because they've lost _Rodney_.

There is something terrible in a mind destroyed, and Radek watches the body of the man that he once knew but who now is lost and feels the emptiness, the imminence of his own mortality.

_Radek stands in the doorway, watching. Waiting for something, he doesn't know what. Rodney's team is clustered around, and it seems so fitting, so perfect that he turns—turns to go, though he doesn't know where. He doesn't know much right now._

_Dr. Beckett is standing next to him—looking at him—compassion and fear shining clearly in his blue eyes._

"_How is he?" Radek asks, and Beckett almost winces, almost lets his eyes flicker away._

"_He's had severe trauma to the head…he's in a coma, but he should wake up in a few days. We won't be sure of any permanent damage until then."_

_The words are unexpected and absurd. Radek nods because he knows he should respond. He doesn't speak because he doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know much right now. _

_Maybe neither of them do._

The cursor blinks at the end of a series of letters, and Rodney watches him desperately, impatiently. Radek blinks eyes tired from sleep and heavy with pain, and slowly the letters coalesce into words, and the words into sentences, and he reads and then re-reads, and then half-yells in shock, cursing in Czech.

"i thnik im getin betr i ned to talk to carsin"

_He is asleep, eyes moving rapidly behind their lids, breath coming in little gasps that give the mind easy consent to imagine the worst, to imagine in vivid detail what he dreams of. There are too many fresh and dark memories to pretend that nightmares don't come true._

_The sheets are blue—Rodney's sheets from Rodney's room, a luxury granted to such intelligence. _

_Radek thinks they look soft and brushes a hand across them. He wishes he'd taken the chance to find out before._

Rodney is sleeping in the infirmary after the marathon of tests, and Radek paces outside the door, hesitating, unsure. Beckett comes up next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

"How is he?" Radek asks, and Beckett smiles.

_Rodney sits up in the infirmary bed, looking around him, confused. Radek steps forward, arms crossed in front of him, hiding from the inevitable—from the truth he knows exists._

_He never knew Rodney could look so young. So lost._

"Rodney, I need to talk to you—" Radek starts, keeping his voice slow and measured, but Rodney shakes his head slightly.

"Radek…I…I have say to you…" he pauses, frowning, trying to find the words and ideas that keep eluding him. Radek steps closer, eyes widening perceptibly as Rodney slowly looks up, afraid but not confused, cautious but sure.

Neither of them knows what to say or how to say it, but Radek takes the chance he thought he'd lost and reaches out, brushing Rodney's fingers with his own.

His reflexes are still much slower, but Rodney grabs his hand before it slides away.

"_I…I know you," Rodney frowns, and then his eyes light up suddenly. "We've got to finish! Come on! Help me with this! The Wraith are coming!" His arms move in front of him in the air, and Radek fights to not turn away. He never knew watching someone live could be so painful._

"_Rodney," he whispers, voice hitching on the word, stepping closer to the bed, and Rodney looks up, eyes narrowing in concentration. Unexpectedly he breaks down, crying, and Radek reaches out and embraces him._

"_Radek," Rodney breathes, and his heart skips a beat and for a moment he almost believes his friend is actually there._

Rodney is lying down on blue sheets, and Radek sits and holds his hand and Rodney holds his as well, because Rodney _is _there, half-hidden under the surface, slowly finding his way home.

Rodney pulls his hand back when Carson comes in to check on him, a red tinge rising in his cheeks, and Radek smiles.

His blush is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.


End file.
